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Ranboo loves being an actor, specifically for the Dream SMP.
It's always a fun time on the set, and he's met some of the best people he knows while working there, really. He loves the character he plays (usually), and he still can't believe that he's involved with one of the most popular things to come out of the decade- and even on top of that, he's a fan-favourite. He's barely ever even acted as a backgound character in movies, and suddenly, he's found himself in the blinding limelight, adored by thousands.
Obviously, it comes with its fair share of pressure- which is understandable. He expected it, what with having to memorize so many lines and having to stay in character and portray emotion well enough to entertain and all the other things being an actor in a show comes with. What he didn't expect, though, was the added pressure of some of your fellow actors almost getting assassinated.
That isn't to say that he doesn't care about what happened because it was such a hassle- it was terrifying even though he was just a bystander, and even he had to get indirectly involved at a point. He and Tubbo had their fair share of stress after Tommy stole a phone that was logged in to the Twitter account and "admitted" to causing the light to fall- PR chewed him out for a good ten minutes despite him being on the verge of a panic attack before Ranboo and Tubbo could get to him...and then that same PR kidnapped Tommy, some more of Ranboo's friends, and then proceeded to get arrested.
Memorising lines is a break from everything at this point, even despite his slightly worse-than-average memory.
Despite the normalcy settling back into place (what with those who orchestrated the accident being locked away and the SMPFlix Awards being over), Ranboo (and others, he's sure) has had to desperately try to ignore the creeping, scratching feeling of paranoia that makes the teen constantly glance over his shoulder and triple-check the set, trying to make sure a repeat of what happened can't happen to anyone else. He's completely aware that the mindset puts ridiculous amounts of pressure on himself- if something, anything goes wrong, he'll feel like it's on his watch- but with the way things went wrong the last time everything went relatively unchecked, he's completely willing to bear that responsibility.
Perhaps it was ever-so-slightly tonally improper to have him film what are easily his most dangerous scenes less than two months after someone got hurt on set, but Ranboo didn't at all mind. He was offered a stunt double, someone who could probably escape a water tank with a faux lock blindfolded with their hands and legs tied together, but Ranboo refused- he didn't want to ruin immersion, as the scene may have (or may not have- God knows how the producers work their magic) necessitated close-ups on his face (and if something went wrong, he wouldn't want someone else to take the fall for something he'd be better off suffering through).
And besides, doing your own stunts is always fun- Phil did, and nothing had ever gone wrong when he did it.
(He had visibly winced when he said that- maybe not the best of analogies, but his point still stood.)
This decision then proceeded to take out about an hour of his day for a week and a half, practicing how to get out of the tank before actually starting to record the scene. It was surprisingly simple- as the lock couldn't properly lock, all it took was a slightly forceful push to the top and the bottom half of the fake padlock would simply fall away. There really weren't many ways to mess it up, and Ranboo, surprisingly, never did during practice. It was smooth sailing before and after adding the water, and it made Ranboo a little proud of himself to have no real issues regarding something so dangerous.
Execution is always different than in practice, though, so he's ever-so-slightly nervous as the set is properly set up in front of him by the crew, an assortment of spry young adults with a rainbow of different hair colours- Ranboo has no idea where the directors picked them up from, but they're nice and do their job well, so he isn't really complaining. He tries to count how many different hair colours he can spot from where he stands, wringing his hands with anxiety welling up inside his chest and making him short of breath. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, repeating a silent mantra to himself in an effort to cool his nerves until he feels a nudge at his side.
He opens his eyes and looks down to see Tubbo, still half in costume with his hair being tied back but still wearing the plaid winter coat from his Snowchester era, holding out a little ball to Ranboo with another nudge.
Ranboo lets out an amused huff. "Was it that obvious?"
"I could basically hear your heartbeat from the other set, big man," Tubbo jokes as Ranboo takes the red and green stress ball that they share, passing it between his hands and twisting it- it's significantly less painful than twisting his own hands, and the distraction of it and Tubbo help him to stop rocking and stand mostly still. "You're gonna kill it, dude, I've seen you trudge around with a towel wrapped around your hair to know you've practiced many times and not died once."
Ranboo makes a face. "How could I have died more than once?"
"Don't question the Tubs, Ranboob," speaks up a voice from behind, startling Ranboo enough for him to jump slightly. He turns around to see Tommy, sitting in the directors' chair (someone else was sitting there less than a minute ago- he has no idea when Tommy got there) and holding a cup of coffee with his legs crossed. He's not in costume at all, his blonde hair missing the white streak and being tied into a ponytail. He wears a denim jacket with his trademark red and white shirt underneath, his wings folded up behind him. Ranboo rolls his eyes as Tommy continues, "You've been on my show long enough to know the rules."
The taller boy deadpans. "Who in their right mind let you have coffee?"
"Nobody lets me have coffee, Ranboob-"
"Not my name."
"-I have dozens of interns waiting to give me coffee at a moment's notice," Tommy says, ignoring Ranboo's interjection. "As I am the director and this is my show."
Ranboo snickers. "Last time I checked, this was the Dream SMP, not the Dream's-Annoying-Little-Brother SMP."
Tommy's face flushes. "Dream actually made me the director and the owner of you and everything after he realized just how much I mattered to him, so it is my show."
"I'm pretty sure that's nepotism."
Tommy furrows his brows. "What the fuck is a neopetism?"
"I'm pretty sure it's this old video game," Tubbo pipes up, and Ranboo groans and drags a hand down his face. "Wilbur's mentioned it before, I think."
"This is what happens when you make friends with highschool dropouts," Ranboo says, playful exasperation laced in his voice. "You become a genius among morons."
Tommy squawks indignantly as Tubbo just laughs, shoving Ranboo lightly and making the taller boy stumble as he tries to hold back his own giggles. His nerves sit completely forgotten as his friends act as a wonderful distraction, their continuous banter managing to make even bystanders start laughing.
It doesn't take long, though, for the crew to finish putting the set together. Ranboo feels the laughter die off on his tongue as the water tank is wheeled in, and he swiftly turns himself around and excuses himself to "get ready"- he just needs a minute to let the anxiety simmer down again.
He stumbles through the studio, weaving between sets and making sure not to walk in front of any cameras, ignoring anyone that tries to approach him as his heart rate picks up. The sight of the tank being wheeled into position, surrounded by the fake stone walls and the exposed redstone wires that are hooked up to what would be a redstone clock and a lever was enough to make bile rise into his throat and his mind start spinning with unbridled terror even without the water being in it. He doesn't even know where he's walking to- he just knows that he needs to get out before he has a breakdown in front of someone and makes everyone start worrying.
He feels like he's going to break through the stress ball with how hard he squeezes it, desperately trying to keep himself from breaking into a panic attack by taking deep breaths and doing all those grounding exercises that Puffy showed them.
He has no idea where the fear is coming from- it isn't normal nerves, he's had nerves before, this is a gut feeling that he can't get rid of coming from God-knows-where and making him pace a hole into a mostly empty section of the studio. It's the unshakable feeling of dread that borderline incapacitates him as he leans on the concrete wall, taking breaths that make his chest hurt with his hands clasped together and held still on his lap. He feels so convinced that this is going to go terribly, no matter how many times the rational part of him tries to convince himself that he practiced for this and that there's no way for it to go wrong. Despite how much he practiced, he knows that it can still go wrong and it terrifies him.
Despite that- and it's so hard to think about anything else- he pushes off of the wall drawing in a breath that grates across his windpipes as he starts to walk back to the set. He's not going to be able to completely get over this in the two or so minutes he has before someone comes looking for him, so he just needs to push through it, whatever that means. He supposes the feeling could help his performance, if he can tone it down enough to fit the scene, though he's sure Tubbo and Tommy will be able to see through his act quickly. He'll just have to one and done the scene, which he's done before- multiple times.
He can ignore how difficult the task feels just for the few minutes it'll take to monologue and almost drown himself. Yeah. It's easy.
He feels like he's sleepwalking back to the set he left, not really paying attention to his surroundings and focusing more on trying to ease the pressure on his heart so he'll actually be able to talk when he gets back.
He stops dead about ten feet away from the set, behind everyone, staring at the now-filled water tank and squeezing his eyes shut to walk forwards. Dream sits in the directors chair, probably having booted Tommy out of there when he saw the little gremlin occupying his seat. He didn't even consider that dream was going to be here, too- the humour in him talking about the man as if he wasn't there never fails to make him laugh a little, and the smile that he flashes as Ranboo drags himself towards the set reminds him of it and makes him at least smile in return.
"You good, Ranboo?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. "You look like you just saw someone get hit by a train."
Ranboo groans, pulling a face. "Am I really that bad at hiding it?"
Dream looks startled. "Wh- did you see someone get hit by a train?"
"What? No, I mean-" Ranboo pauses, then sighs deeply. Despite it not being on purpose, it helps calm his racing heart down just a little. "I'm nervous. About the water tank, I mean, not just the scene. The scene is great. It's really cool. I just-" I just think I should have gotten a stunt double. Ranboo bites his tongue before he lets the thought loose. No way is he going to delay the scene, and no way in hell is he going to subject someone else to this awful feeling. He'd rather go through it seventy times than put someone through that.
So all he says is simply, "Yeah. I'm scared."
Dream makes a sympathetic noise and expression, looking about ready to ruffle his hair if Ranboo's head was actually within arm reach. He hates the idea of stealing Wilbur and Tommy's "we're like brothers" joke, but sometimes Dream is just a little too affectionate with him and Ranboo looks up to him a little too much for nothing to be there. Instead, their joke is more about Ranboo replacing Tommy, which is hilarious in its own right.
The thought makes him crack a smile.
"Well, whatever you're thinking of, think of it more," Dream jokes, elbowing Ranboo's side. "Clearly it's helping you cheer up."
"I'm thinking of replacing Tommy as the main character," Ranboo says, he half-lie only slipping out so as to not embarrass himself. "The main character never tries to straight up drown themselves. I wouldn't have to deal with this."
"Yeah, well. You say that, but..."
It takes a moment for the joke to register, but when it does, Ranboo snorts and covers his smile with his hand. "Oh my God, Dream. That's terrible."
"That worked," replies Dream with a grin, pushing Ranboo slightly. "C'mon, you've got this. You've got a break from recording after this, anyways, so if we get it done in one take, you get to relax way sooner."
Ranboo shifts his weight back and forth between his fee, squeezing his stress ball as he says, "Yeah. Yeah, I've got this. Sooner I get this done, sooner I get to sleep in the break room for three hours and take up the whole couch." He appreciates the collective groan from everyone in the surrounding area except for Dream, who simply pats him on the back and says, "Attaboy," which is something Ranboo has never heard anyone say unironically in his life before.
It's kinda funny.
He only makes it a couple of steps before Tubbo is at his side again, quietly asking him, "You alright now, big man?"
He lets out a breath. "Yeah. I'm okay. I managed to piss off the entire camera crew, so I'm feeling a lot better."
Tubbo gives him a bemused look. "How'd you manage that?"
"I told them I'd sleep on the couch and leave no room for three hours."
"They haven't figured out that they can just sit on you yet?"
"No, and I'd prefer it to stay that way," Ranboo says, scrunching his nose at Tubbo.
"You're stiff as a board, anyways. It'd be more comfortable to sit on a plank of wood," Tubbo says, narrowly ducking under Ranboo trying to smack the side of his head. "Tommy left to go pout after Dream kicked him out of the director's seat, by the way. He'll be back soon, he had coffee and I don't think he'll be able to stop himself from coming to bother us for too long."
Ranboo laughs, about to reply with another jab at their blonde friend (probably something about Dream letting Ranboo sit in the director's seat all the time) when he's interrupted by being called to the set. He squeezes the stress ball as Tubbo squeezes his arm, patting him twice on the shoulder as Ranboo says, "Wish me luck?"
Tubbo snorts. "Luck is for pussies. You'll do great."
He starts walking away just as Ranboo grumbles, "I can't get this one thing?"
"You'll do fine, Ranboo!"
The taller boy huffs, shaking his head as he walks onto the set. He goes to crack his knuckles and finally registers that he's still holding the stress ball, holding it up and before throwing it to someone behind the camera, who catches it with one hand and doesn't even look at him. Alright.
Dream spares a glance towards the probably-inhuman cameraperson before turning to Ranboo and asking, "You ready?"
Ranboo flashes him a thumbs up, immediately going back to wringing his hands before stopping himself and steeling his nerves, shaking his hands and bouncing as Dream counts down from three, two, one-
"Dream SMP, Season Three, Episode Nine- Action!"
Ranboo acts. It doens't take long for him to start running his mouth, and it takes even less for his nerves to start to die away- aside from the anxiety that he clings onto, channeling it into his voice and mannerisms to make him sound just that high-strung. It's a scene where he's talking to himself and dust particles in the air, so he thinks it's appropriate to keep his true panic and terror behind a thinly-veiled facade of calm and collectiveness.
All in all, he thinks he does pretty damn good. He can't help but start to wring his hands every time he sees or mentions the water tank- which, to be fair, is the most in-character thing he could do at the moment, so it at least doesn't come off a weird. As his monologuing peters out, though, he finds his slight fear coming back. He tells himself that it's perfectly normal, though- even a trained professional would probably be a little scared.
He finds the scene ending far too soon for his liking- he's checking over the mechanics of the prop redstone clock before he's ready, and in the next moment, he's climbing up the set of "stone" steps that lead to the top of the tank.
He silently stares at the lid before prying it open with little difficulty- the glass at the top is significantly thinner and lighter so it's easier for him to push open. He gets water on his hand and recoils with a hiss- an in-character reaction and a real reaction. The water is absolutely freezing cold, for whatever reason, which it usually isn't. It makes the drop feel even less appealing as he stares, the feeling in his chest urging him to turn to everyone watching- which he smoothly checks by turning his head towards the camera and angled downward in a moment of silent compensation (Dream, Tubbo, and he's almost visibly startled by Techno somehow being there, too, arms crossed and stood behind Dream with a slight menace to his figure)- and tell them that he can't do this.
He turns back to stare into the still water- just for a moment before shoving down the mounting hesitance and slamming his fist into the button on the wall, making the lights on the redstone props go off- in-universe, that triggers the redstone clock. In-universe, as soon as he slides into the tank and the top shuts, he's not going to be able to leave until he's a different person.
Ranboo presses the button, yells at himself inwardly to get over it, and swings himself into the tank. He takes a deep breath and closes the top behind him- he hears a click, and the game is afoot.
The shock of the cold water alone makes him involuntarily spasm as soon as he's fully submerged, his body tensing before making him thrash for a moment as his body tries to adjust to this new factor. Once he starts processing again, his eyes fly open and he starts thrashing on purpose, twisting his features to make it look like he's in indescribable pain and opening his mouth to scream without really releasing that much air.
He can see the blurred figures of the crew (more than he had seen last he checked) and his close friends- Dream's green sweater in the director's seat, Techno's looming figure behind him, Tubbo standing slightly to the side (and slightly turned away, too)- and tries to see them as his character, as visages that simply fuel his desperation, pounding on the glass and using a little more air to scream for help that will not come.
He hasn't accidentally inhaled yet, so he supposes this is going well. Or, rather, it's ending well, as fifteen seconds in, he starts to feel that slight burn of running low on air. Fifteen seconds is well over enough content for the editors to work with from what he's seen of the plans for this scene, so he signals that he's finished with a thumbs up- he can hear something yelled, probably "Cut!"- and he does exactly what he practiced dozens of times over the course of a week and a half.
He lets out the rest of the air in his lungs in a slow stream of bubbles, sinking to the bottom of the tank before pushing up with force and slamming his hands against the glass top.
It catches him completely off guard when the force ricochets him back downward in the water. The burning in his chest is getting significantly worse. He tries again- ouch the bottom of the tank and propel up and open the lid.
He feels it jostle a little, but it's held shut by something- something that could only be the lock, which means that the lock is real, and since he's an underweight, eighteen-year-old basically-a-child actor with asthma that's already been underwater for thirty seconds, he's about to start drowning if he doesn't get out right now.
Get out. It's the only thing he can hear over the water in his ears and the rushing of blood in his head, repeating itself over and over as he hits the lid of the tank over and over, fruitlessly trying to bust it open somehow as he's further deafened by the pounding of his heart in his ears. He blurrily sees a figure run up to him- Dream, from the color of his sweater- and reach up to where the lock would be, making a few jerky movements before calling out something that’s far too muffled for Ranboo to understand. He sees figures rushing all around his vision, really, but his focus is more on pushing at any of the five surfaces he can reach in his desperate attempt to get out before he reaches his breaking point. His arms and legs sting and burn from the inside, and the fire festering in his chest is enough to make him feel dizzy.
At forty-eight seconds, Ranboo reaches his breaking point.
Independent of his conscious thought, his body, strangled by the waste in his blood and starved of oxygen, opens his airways suddenly to try and take a breath- and instead of air, all he gets is water.
His rational thought starts to shut down as his windpipe and throat and lungs are assaulted by a current of water that seems to burn him from the inside out, grating against his sensitive flesh until he can’t think or function at all. His eyes bulge out of his head as his hands desperately claw at his throat, the movement doing nothing to stop him from sinking slightly as his lungs begin to fill.
Every part of him is screaming, every nerve, every starved blood cell, every fibre of his being is in agony and he is completely powerless to stop it. He suffers helplessly, a spectator of his own demise as his instincts completely take over and he's doing nothing but spasming in the unforgiving current of his own creation.
Thunk.
At sixty-seven fucking seconds, Ranboo shifts back into focus. All he can see are blurred figures that move too much for his slightly preoccupied mind to keep track of- all he can register is one person, closer to the tank than anyone else, and a cluster of spiderweb cracks right in front of his face.
Help.
Thunk.
Ranboo bangs on the glass, his scream for help coming out as nothing more than a pathetic plea that's surprisingly audible considering he's underwater.
Thunk.
The pain is overwhelming. His arms burn and ache more and more with every instance of contact with the glass. The feeling in his chest is indescribable- it's wrong. It's foreign and disgusting and causes so much suffering that it just has to be wrong.
He sinks further into the water. His feet graze the bottom of the tank.
Thunk.
The strength in his arms gives way. He involuntarily inhales again and black spots crawl in from the edges of his vision. He starts to fold in on himself as he reaches the bottom of the tank.
Crash?
Something- something faint and muffled, something that sounds like a cash reverberates in the water. He can feel everything vibrate, but all he can register is the slight pause in the rhythmic hits and the appearances of cracks in the glass.
He holds his fingers up to the glass with the last of his strength in a pathetic attempt to get the person's attention again. A few moments pass before another spiderweb appears.
Ranboo only hears one more, miles away, before the water overwhelms him and his consciousness sinks into the depths.
Tommy has no idea what the fuck just happened.
The set he was hanging out on is in shambles- two metal beams are embedded in the wood of the set, having fallen from wherever they were hanging far above everyone's heads. He's completely frozen as everything moves around him- people are running away from their stations to go get help, people are running away in general, and there's someone laying on the ground, completely unconscious from getting clocked in the head by a giant slab of metal.
It looked almost funny when they ragdolled, but the only sound that came out of Tommy's mouth was a strangled shout of shock, not a laugh.
Thunk.
Over the chaos, that noise continues- something Tommy heard just before the beams fell, something he was going to go check out before he almost died. He almost fucking died there- he was inches away from the first beam making contact with his head and probably tearing it from his neck like a golf club making contact with a ball. He had taken several steps back, and the person he was talking to- a crew member he doesn't even know the name of- took two steps back into the wrong direction and got nailed by the second swinging beam. The only thing that saved them from an instant and brutal death- Tommy hopes- was them getting hit in the head by the middle of the beam and not the edge.
Still- there's a person out cold on the ground. It takes a moment for Tommy to stutter back to function and rush over to the crew member, skidding to his knees next to them and immediately moving to check for a pulse. He isn't a medically trained professional or anything, he's only seventeen, but he knows the basic shit from being an actor for so Goddamn long- you'd be amazed at how many scenes require razor accuracy so critics don't pick the shit apart. He feels a pulse, thankfully, and moves to check their breathing, which also seems to be functioning well enough.
He pulls open their eyelid and drops the ugliest swear he can muster up. Their pupil is huge and dilated, and honestly, he only knows what that means and that he should check from useless research he did and Tubbo's own ramblings- which isn't something he should be thinking about right now. What he should be doing is ripping his phone out of his jacket pocket and calling 999, which he immediately does. Past the basics, he feels helpless, sitting over this person's body and waiting for the phone to ring.
The phone picks up. "999, what's your emergency?"
Tommy lets out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair, saying, "Uh- fuck, okay, I'm at the, uh, Bunny Ears Network Studio, someone just got hit in the head with a beam and they're unconscious- they're still breathing and everything but I looked at their eyes and their pupils are huge so I- I think that means their brain is bleeding? And nobody's touching them or anything and-"
Thunk.
"Sir," the voice on the other end replies as Tommy looks up, squinting in the direction of the noise, shaking his head and staring back down at the unconscious person. "Please calm down, you said someone got hit in the head with a metal beam?"
"Yes, fuck, they got hit and they're unconscious and-"
"And you're at the Bunny Ears Studio?"
"Yes, we need someone quickly, I-I don't know how to handle this, I-I-I'm not-"
"Tommy!"
Tommy's head snaps up to look at the voice that yelled his name from behind, his breath stuttering when he sees Techno running at him at top speed, not in costume or anything but looking more panicked than Tommy had seen him since...well, since Phil.
"Techno, I-"
He's cut off by Techno yanking his arm up and pulling Tommy off the ground, eyes locked on the unconscious person on the ground even as he's actively pulling Tommy away. "Tommy, what- what happened?"
"I don't fucking know! W-We were just talking and then the two beams fell and knocked that person out, a-and I was just calling for a fucking ambulance, what are you doing?!"
Thunk.
"It- it's Ranboo," Techno says, uncharacteristic panic laced in his voice. "He got stuck."
Tommy's eyes widen, then narrow. "What the fuck do you mean he got stuck?"
"He got locked in the- he's locked in the water tank, Tommy," Techno repeats, his grip on Tommy's arm tightening slightly as he continues to pull him in the direction of where he came. "Someone switched out his lock with a real one. He's- I just- Tubbo sent me to see what the crash was- you know CPR, right?"
Tommy can't breathe. He stares into space without responding as his brain replays everything in his mind over and over- beam falls, he almost dies, another beam falls, nice crew member gets knocked out and has a cerebral hemorrhage, and now he finds out that his closest friend is currently fucking drowning.
Thunk.
"Tommy? Tommy, we don't really have time for-"
"Yeah, fuck, okay," Tommy breathes, shaking his head and coming back to focus. "Holy shit- okay."
Techno tentatively starts pulling him faster, and Tommy detaches himself from Techno's grip and starts booking it towards the set he left everyone at.
When he gets there, it's a mess. There's a semi-circle of people crowded around the tank, people bustling back and forth and coming to try and see, just watching like this is some kind of show. Tommy feels like he's going to be sick.
He shoves through person after person, breaking through the crowd with Techno, pushing into the circle and seeing the empty camera and director's chair. Dream is stood almost helplessly to the side as Tubbo- God bless fucking Tubbo- swings a criminally old, dull, fire axe into the glass, making another crack appear on the clear surface. It covers most of the visible space on the glass, making it almost impossible to see what's going on inside.
Tommy takes a step forward as Tubbo detaches the axe from the glass, adjusting his grip before swinging it with more might than he had before, twisting his entire body into his movement- and Tommy has to almost jump backwards as the glass shatters and water comes flooding out of the tank, carrying Ranboo in its current after thee full minutes of being submerged underwater.
He glances at Tubbo, who lets out an exclamation of pain as the glass shatters and he drops the axe, holding his trembling arms out as he stares at his cut, bloodied arms from the shards that flew out at him. He clenches his fists together as Tommy runs up to him, yelling, "Shit, fuck, Tubbo, are you-?"
"I'm fine," Tubbo says through gritted teeth, closing his eyes and shaking his head as Tommy stands by his side. His gaze is drawn towards Ranboo, who lays limply on the ground, limbs haphazardly in different directions, hair sticking to his face, and his chest decidedly not rising and falling. It doesn't look anything like how they describe it in movies or shows or books- he doesn't look peaceful. His face still has the etches of pain dug into his features, his eyes are barely closed- Tommy himself thinks he stops breathing for a moment, because when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he whips around towards them, hyperventilating and saying, "I don't- I can't fucking-"
"Tommy, you cannot start arguing about this shit right now!" Tubbo snaps, using his firm grip on Tommy's shoulder to force him downwards. "You are not about to make a scene about giving our best friend fucking CPR!"
Tubbo borderline yelling at him makes him flinch, but he descends to his knees anyways, holding wavering hands over Ranboo's completely still chest and taking in a breath to steady himself. The murmuring around him and the yelling in the far background doesn't help, but he tries to filter it out as much as possible before locking his fingers into his other hand and pressing down on Ranboo's chest.
He hates it. He doesn't know what else to say- rapidly pressing on his friend's chest and trying to artificially create a heartbeat wasn't something on the agenda for the day, and he has to force himself to not turn away when he notices the water trailing of the side of Ranboo's mouth, even more when the compressions make the water start pouring out of his mouth and pool on the floor next to him.
The whispers and hollers in the background- and right next to him, as he distantly hears Tubbo yell at Dream, "What are you standing there for, have you called 999?"- seem to fade out as Tommy desperately tries to remember exactly what to do. He can't have this on his hands, he can't, not after what happened with Phil. He doesn't know how long he'd be able to manage the stress- last time, he basically cried himself to sleep every night from the guilt of thinking Phil losing his wing was his fault. If Ranboo died literally by his hand-
In a time when Tommy could even properly think of joking about something like this, the idea of giving Ranboo mouth-to-mouth would be hilariously revolting to both him and Ranboo himself. Tommy delivers the rescue breaths without issue, immediately switching back to chest compressions for another minute or so before reaching down and checking his pulse.
It's there, but it's weak. Too weak, way too weak to be considered any sort of stable.
There's still water that occasionally forces its way out of his mouth, and Tommy can taste the chlorine every time he goes for the two rescue breaths between compressions.
He doesn't know how long he's kneeling there- nobody tries to talk to him, scared that they'll distract him, and he's terrified of talking to anyone else, lest he slips up and hears a sickening crack under his hands- he plays it over and over in his mind and wonders if it would sound like the snap before the beam fell or the crush of the axe against glass.
Tubbo thinks today might be the day he snaps and kills someone.
He's not sure how he's managed to keep his cool for this long, but he is sure that if another medical practitioner gives him a vague, dismissive answer or an answer that doesn't actually answer his Goddamn questions, he's leaving the hospital in handcuffs or not at all.
He's been here for hours- hours of getting Tubbo (extremely painful) medical attention for the multiple shards of glass in his arms and literal hours of waiting, sharing terrified conversations with half of the main cast and then some all piled into the hospital waiting room, which is complete chaos in and of itself. Dream and Tommy look about ready to burst into tears if someone so much as thinks of the possibility of bad news, Niki and Fundy are working as moral support and are trying to cheer everyone up as much as possible, and Techno is doing his best to pace a hole into the waiting room floor, not taking his eyes off of his phone for even a moment.
What scares Tubbo most is probably the expression that Phil has been wearing, though. It's ghostly and detached- he looks absolutely destroyed and has barely said a word since they arrived at the hospital. Kristen sits next to him, probably just as concerned, but Tubbo is four-hundred per cent sure his reaction is guilt- he's blaming himself for this happening to someone else.
Tubbo scans the expressions in the room for the hundredth time, squeezing the red and green stress ball that belongs to him, Ranboo, and Tommy until it feels like it'll be permanently disfigured when he puts it down. He tries to pick apart every micro-expression he can see from a few chairs away on everyone's faces, ignoring the feeling festering in his chest that threatens to explode at...really, any second now.
Every time his gaze lands on Phil, he feels the pit of anger in his stomach deepen.
Again. This happened again. He can't stop himself from gritting his teeth every time he sees Tommy, smile completely wiped off of his face as he stares into the decorated concrete walls, lost deeply in his own thoughts as Dream sits with his head in his hands, leaning on his knees as he very obviously contemplates why he couldn't do more. He wants to scream at Fundy and Niki, who use their absence from the scene as a reason for their lightheartedness when they're just as terrified as everyone else.
Every examination is used to try and ignore his own mounting terror (mounting on fury, that is) and does nothing but make it grow- he looks around and sees a crowd of people that are trying desperately to prepare themselves for the death of a close friend. They were all told the survivability- the average healthy adult can go four minutes without oxygen to the brain before it starts dying, and due to a series of oddly coincidental events (which is bullshit- this was set up from the start), Ranboo was effectively drowning for three minutes- three minutes- before Tommy started CPR. And God bless fucking Tommy, because if he had gotten there any later, he probably would have died on his way to the hospital or even before they got in the ambulance.
Still, Ranboo is not the average healthy adult- he's a child-actor underweight teenager with fucking asthma of all things, so he's currently undergoing surgery for cerebral hypoxia. Which, if he survives (which he likely will not, if Tubbo's being real with himself), will cause a slew of health issues that could possibly be incurable.
So yeah. His friend is dying, and they still have no fucking idea why.
"Tubbo," Dream says suddenly, startling Tubbo out of his thoughts. His voice is clipped and thick, given that he was probably crying less than a minute ago. "Please."
"Wh- what?" Tubbo questions, sitting up and itching his neck where his Snowchester coat brushes against his skin. "What did i do?"
"You were talking aloud, Tubbo," Niki offers gently. "It's...we are all frustrated."
"Oh," Tubbo mutters, pulling his body into a defensive position and crossing his legs. "I mean, I'm not wrong, am I?"
This makes Fundy's head snap up towards him, fox ear twitching was a warning sign. Tubbo decidedly ignores him, continuing, "I mean, really, all of us are just- sitting and waiting for bad news when we could actually be doing something about what happened." Tubbo's mouth presses into a thin line at the lack of response before sharply adding, "Or are we all choosing to ignore that someone tried to murder him and went through a lot of trouble to make sure he couldn't be saved?"
"Well, what the fuck do you want us to do about it?" Fundy snarls, trying to keep his voice level so they don't all get kicked out. "The police are already investigating the entire Goddamn set, how are we supposed to help with that now?"
"By fucking-" He cuts himself off, taking a breath before restarting quieter, "By acknowledging that that's what happened. Phil and Techno do, and I'm sure Dream does. Do the rest of you really think it's a coincidence that the lock was switched out on the day of his filming, two steel beams were cut at the exact moment we all needed to be paying attention, the water was randomly switched to be ice cold, and the two closest emergency weapons on a fucking television set were suddenly missing when we needed them?"
"And the security cameras were taken out about an hour before it happened," Techno suddenly speaks up, his eyes still glued to his phone but no longer pacing back and forth like his life depended on it. "Whoever it was has skill- they did the thing they always do in movies. Looping the tape or whatever so it changes what you see."
Tubbo tries to ignore the jerk in his chest at the new information, smothering it by flinging out an arm and going, "Well there you go! And hey, isn't it weird how no-one on set or nearby knew CPR? Including you, Tommy?"
Tommy looks startled when his name is said, looking across at Tubbo with suddenly aware eyes and saying in that same croaky voice Dream had, "What...?"
"You weren't scheduled to film at all today, nor were you scheduled for anything else. You were just aimlessly wandering for the entire day- you didn't have to show up at all, and if you didn't then Ranboo would be dead." He crosses his arms defiantly, looking over the faces of his audience. "Because nobody who had work on or around that set had any medical understanding at all, even though we probably should have checked beforehand that we had at least one-"
His pointed comment doesn't go unnoticed, Dream producing a short, high whine of guilt as he drawls, "Tubbo...please shut- please." He looks up at the teen, and Tubbo's eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly at the red rings around his eyes, partially from crying and partially from having his hands pressed against his eyes for the last half hour. His expression is tired, exhausted, as if he's already gone through these thoughts thousands of times since they got there and can't stand to hear them turned to his fault more than he already has. "We're all worried and high-strung right now, you don't have to take it out on everyone else."
"You think- you think this is me taking it out on you?" Tubbo says, incredulous. "I'm not doing anything, I'm just telling you all that this wasn't a fucking accident!"
"We know it wasn't an accident, Tubbo," Niki says quietly, her hair falling slightly in front of her face. "We're all trying to process things in our own way-"
"Process what?" Tubbo snaps, his voice peaking slightly louder than he should keep it in a hospital. "The fact that he's in brain surgery for something with a 65% death rate-"
"Shut up," Fundy hisses, his hands crawling into fists.
"You're all acting like this and you don't even know?" Tubbo says, his voice strangled with humour that tries to deflect the pressure that builds in his chest and throat, building up and trying to choke him with tears that he refuses to let out. "Chances are, if he gets out alive, he'll be in a coma. He could wake up being a completely different person, or maybe he'll be mute. Maybe his eyes will be all fucked, or he won't be able to walk because the part of his brain controlling his balance had half of its cells die." His hands squeeze into themselves- one hand into the stress ball, the other into his palm, digging into the flesh and piercing through his skin. The sharp pain cuts through the haze of anger in his mind, and he starts to curl his body in on itself. "And- that's only if he survives it. It's already been hours- things could be tanking and we wouldn't even know, and he's only in there because none of us were fucking fast enough-"
His voice breaks, pressing his palms into his eyes and hunching over his legs, pulling every limb closer to his main body as tears come from his eyes- he forces himself to stop just as fast as he starts, forcefully blowing out of his nose to try and level his breathing, his fingers pushing into his palm even further to the point where he can feel blood start to trickle down his hand as silence rings through the room.
A few moments pass before he feels someone sit near him, letting the person pull his hand open and hold it, keeping him from pressing his nails back into the cuts. He knows for a fact that it's Tommy- this isn't the first time it's happened, but the touch just makes him wants to cry harder.
Instead, he doesn't move, sitting in silence until someone else- a doctor- walks into the room.
"Ranboo is out of surgery," announces the doctor, making Tubbo's head snap up so fast he feels like his neck might've broken. The woman is short with light brown hair and dark skin, a smattering of freckles across her face. Her hands are folded in front of her, and she looks just as cool and collected as every other doctor he's seen in this place- it's such a stark contrast to what Tubbo feels, his chest that had been smothered with pressure releasing so suddenly he feels lightheaded. He's alive. "He's going to need a while to wake up, but he's completely stable."
The collective sigh of relief that floods the room is almost humourous, but Tubbo keeps his breath held, suspicious at the too-long silence after informing them of Ranboo's status. "But...?"
The doctor- Dr. Laurier, according to her name tag- fully turns towards him. "He's stable, but when it comes to these sorts of things, there can be side-effects that we...won't really know about until we either get the results back from pathology, or until he wakes up."
"Well- h-how long is it gonna take for him to wake up?" Fundy asks, sitting up straighter in his seat.
Dr. Laurier shrugs in that way doctors do without trying to seem like they're trying to invoke levity, her mouth thinning into a line. "Could take anywhere from a few hours to a few days- it's just unpredictable when it has to do with the brain."
The words don't even properly register in Tubbo's mind. "Can I- can we go see him?"
The doctor smiles. "Of course. You can all visit him right now- but once he wakes up, we're going to have to limit it to two people in the room at a time. His brain, like any broken part of the body, needs time to heal and-"
"Can we please go see him now?" Tommy interrupts, having already stood up from his seat, Tubbo's hand firmly in his. Tubbo slowly stands up himself, the doctor's words turns to nothing but background noise as Tommy suddenly leads him in the direction of where the doctor was, the jerk at his arm startling him out of his thoughts.
Tommy leads him through the hallways- or, rather, the doctor leads them around while Tommy pulls Tubbo a little too hard as if he's the one in charge. It's enough to keep him from thinking about anything besides telling Tommy off and accusing him of trying to dislocate his arm until they reach the room, where Tubbo immediately starts preparing himself for the absolute worst as Dr. Laurier opens the door.
Tubbo follows her in and almost stops dead in the doorway.
Ranboo lays on the hospital bed in a blue an white gown, covered by a sheet and looking frighteningly like a corpse with his arms to his side. There's something on his face- a half-mask stuck up his mouth and nose that's connected to a tube that's connected to a machine by the side of his bed that's clearly aiding him with his breathing. Tubbo shuffles in and drops himself haphazardly into a seat, the one closest to the door as everyone else files in.
Tubbo doesn't say a single word while they all stand around. He doesn't even move to stand over Ranboo's body, simply watching everyone else until Fundy and Niki leave, followed by Dream and Tommy (he thinks Dream said something about having to deal with the police, and Tommy doesn't seem to trust that Dream won't crash the car without him there, so he left, too). Eventually, Techno and Phil leave, too, if only to go home and change out of their clothes and eat before coming back. Tubbo brushes off Phil's request to drive him home, saying his dad will be over to pick him up soon enough (which is a lie; he hasn't texted Jordan since the ambulance ride here- for all he knows, his phone could be blowing up with texts and probably is).
He's finally left alone in the hospital room, and only then does he drag his chair up towards Ranboo, sitting right next to his bed and tentatively placing a hand on his exposed arm. He's cold the the touch and terrifyingly pale, and Tubbo finds himself finally- finally letting the hiccuping sobs leave his chest, clutching the sheets neatly placed over Ranboo and letting the whir of the ventilator wash over the room and muffle the sounds of crying.
Ranboo wakes up to dim lights.
He blinks his eyes open, trying to clear the sleep out of them and wake himself up, turning himself slightly and regretting the movement instantly- his chest screams in fire, feeling as if it was set ablaze, and it doesn't die down for a good while after the pressure at his side (he didn't notice it before) suddenly lifts.
Ranboo lolls his head to the side, squinting when his eyes land on Tubbo, hair disheveled and almost as in front of his face as it is when recording and his mouth slightly hung open as he stares. Ranboo furrows his brows, turning to look at the rest of the room as he hears Tubbo quietly say, "Ranboo?"
"Hey, Tubbo," He says, the rasp and pain that flares up in his throat surprising even him. Talking hurts- it hurts a lot, and he tries to keep his following questions as short as possible. "Where'm I?"
Tubbo sounds oddly sad as he replies, "You're in the hospital, big man."
It takes a moment for the response to click, but when it does, it doesn't really. It's more like dropping a puzzle piece in the general direction of where it's supposed to go than fitting it in, and Ranboo simply hums. "Why?"
He hears Tubbo breathe in suddenly. "Do you not remember?"
"R'memb'r what?"
He feels, after a second or two, Tubbo's head hit his arm again, and he gets the feeling that he was sitting in that position for a while before he woke up. He suddenly becomes aware of the hand in his, which is squeezed as Tubbo says, "Nothing. You'll figure it out eventually. I'm just- glad you're awake."
"How long was I-" Ranboo cuts himself off with coughs that make his entire body shake with pain, reaching up to cover his mouth but deciding against it when his bones basically creak from trying to move them. "How long was I asleep for?"
"Three days," Comes the quiet reply.
Ranboo hums. "Damn," Is all he says, before helpfully adding, "That'sa while."
Tubbo laughs without humour. "Yeah. That's definitely a good bit."
"My throat hurts."
"The doctor said that'd happen. It's because of the ventilator- they had to drug you because of it when they took it out, for whatever reason, so you're probably a bit loopy still."
Ranboo has no idea what a ventilator is and really has no intention of finding out. "'M tired."
Tubbo shifts, sitting up again and meeting Ranboo's eyes. There are red rings around Tubbo's own, which makes Ranboo think he was probably awake for a very long time or something like that. That's probably right. "Yeah, well, I've gotta tell the doctor that you've woken up. Think you could stay awake for a minute, big man?"
Ranboo giggles- he suddenly finds the term big man hilarious. It shouldn't be- he is a very big man, taller than everyone he knows, but hearing it come from one of the shortest people he knows is incredibly entertaining. "Mhm. Okay, small man."
Tubbo huffs and rolls his eyes, giving Ranboo's hand one final squeezes before standing up, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes and disappearing out the doorway.
Ranboo almost immediately feels his eyes drooping, the struggle to keep them open an obvious loosing battle as he begins to succumb to the wave that calmly washes over the emptiness of his mind and softly tries to pull him back under. He wants to sleep, but he said that he wouldn't.
He's half-asleep by the time Tubbo comes in with a doctor, but the sudden footsteps and talking make him crack his eyes open, furrowing his brows at the sight of them coming through the door.
"Tubbo...?" He croaks, his face twisting at the pain in his throat. Mental note not to talk too much. "Wha'ss goin' on?"
Tubbo makes a confused face, sitting in the chair he was in while the doctor stands on the other side. He lets Tubbo hold his hand as he stares at the doctor lady, not taking his bewildered gaze off of her. "I went to get the doctor, like I said? Are you okay?"
"A doctor?" He asks, turning back to Tubbo, who nods. "Why'm I in a hosp't'l?"
"You almost drowned three days ago, Mr Beloved," says the doctor, saying her first words since she arrived in the room. "You had water in your lungs for well over three minutes, and while your friend saved your life with CPR, you suffered a decent amount of brain damage from the oxygen deprivation."
Panic wells up inside of Ranboo as he runs through his mind, trying to remember any instance like this and coming up dry (no pun intended). "Did-" He clears his throat, which doesn't at all help his problem and just irritates his windpipes more, but he continues anyways. "Did I mess up? The training for the scene?"
Tubbo blinks, once, twice, slowly. "No...you were doing the scene, Ranboo. The camera was rolling and everything."
Ranboo is flabbergasted. "That- that doesn't make sense, my scene wasn't- isn't- 'm not s'possed to film until three days, what happened?"
The growing panic in Tubbo's eyes doesn't help to ease any of his half-baked concerns, as they're still half-submerged in sleep and whatever drugs are making him all slurry. Tubbo's gaze darts to the doctor, who looks concerned as she looks down at Ranboo. "Mr Beloved, what's the last thing you do remember?"
Ranboo racks his brain for an answer but finds everything jumbled up- memories that he knows are from different settings are all pushed to the front of his mind, none of them particularly fresher than another, so when it starts making his head hurt he simply says, "I dunno. 'S not comin' to me, sorry."
"That's okay, Ranboo," The doctor says, smiling at him before turning to Tubbo. "Mr. Maron, may I have a word with you outside?"
Tubbo looks back and forth between the doctor and Ranboo for affirmation that he should go- Ranboo simply stares at him, not saying a word, and once Tubbo realises that he's just a little too out of it for that, he hesitantly pats Ranboo's arm twice quickly and says, "I'll be right back, okay?"
Ranboo nods, watching Tubbo awkwardly step out of the room with the short doctor following behind him, leaving the door wide open but walking away far enough for Ranboo to not be able to hear. He doesn't know how much time passes, but his tiredness slowly dies away as the seconds and minutes drag on, entertaining himself only by looking around at the assorted accessories of the room and waving his feet back and forth under his sheet.
He twists the hospital tag around his wrist over and over, getting lost in the movement before footsteps enter the room.
He looks up to see Tubbo, who smiles at him and slides into the seat placed at the side of his bed- he supposes Tubbo must have been there before. He holds Ranboo's hand and Ranboo squeezes him back, eyes furrowed in confusion but still trying to keep a slight smile on his face.
"The doctor said we can just hang out while she goes to talk to the other surgeons," Tubbo half-explains, leaving most of the story out for Ranboo's mind to frantically grasp at for any sort of context. "Apparently, you're a bit of a hot topic right now."
"I'm...glad?" Ranboo replies, a confused lilt to his tone as winces at the pain in his throat. Jesus. He probably shouldn't talk too much before he really hurts himself with that. "Um..wh-why am I in a hospital, again?"
Tubbo stares at him, all the (admittedly fake) mirth leaving his expression as his mouth presses into a thin line. All of a sudden, he groans, real, true frustration packaged in his tone as his head flops into Ranboo’s side, making the taller boy jump.
“Um,” he says smartly, a bemused expression crossing his face, even moreso than before.
Tubbo is silent before his shoulders start to shake a little, and his voice is thick as he croaks out, "The irony is fucking cruel."
"Does it...comfort you to know that I have no idea what you're talking about?" Ranboo offers, and Tubbo's shoulders tremble as he stats rubbing lines onto the back of Ranboo's hand, albeit with more force than he can really deal with without feeling pain. He doesn't say anything, though- it won't kill him, and it's at least giving Tubbo some comfort. With what, he has no clue, but it's nice to help all the same.
"No," Tubbo says shortly, his sardonic humour still in his tone. "That makes it worse, big man."
"Oh," Ranboo says, pulling a face. "Well, then...I know exactly what you're talking about. 'Course."
Ranboo feels a huff in his side that feels like a laugh- an actual laugh- so he feels just the slightest bit accomplished. He reaches his other, non-occupied hand over to pat Tubbo's head with a slightly dopey smile and continue, "'M sure whatever it is that's happening is all gonna be alright. 'S not like I'm dead, at least."
Tubbo doesn't reply to that, so Ranboo gets the vague sense that that might've been the wrong thing to say. It's silent and still for another couple of minutes, Ranboo trying to focus on the warmth of the hand in his instead of the slightly snippy cold of the rest of the hospital room (he is in a short-sleeved gown, after all) and the rising and falling of Tubbo's chest pressing into the side of the bed ever-so-slightly and making the smallest bit of movement.
Abruptly, Tubbo sucks in a terrible, hiccuping breath and pushes himself out of the chair, ferociously rubbing at his eyes as he stumbles out of the room with nothing but a sharp, "I'll be back in a minute-" before disappearing out of sight.
That's...troubling. Whatever got him in there must have been bad- really bad- to make Tubbo walk out like that. He wrings his hands and fiddles with his fingers, trying to make time pass faster so he isn't alone again sooner by zoning out, doing nothing but examining the room and appreciating the (bland) furniture and the (completely undecorated) curtains in his wait.
He tries not to think too hard while Tubbo isn't there- he knows not knowing what's happening makes Tubbo anxious, but he doesn't really want to remember on his own if it was that bad- is it criminal to want to have a friend walk you through things? He sure doesn't think so- especially not when "things" is an incident that lands you in the hospital.
He must be awake for more than a minute, though- certainly more than five, and definitely more than ten or twenty. It gets to a point where the clock on the wall is too blurry to tell anything distinctive, but he knows the hand has moved far too much for him to be alone for this long- he's in a hospital, aren't supposed to know if he so much as breathes wrong or something? Clearly someone has been in the room, as there's a chair pulled up next to him, but he doesn't know when they left or how long they've been gone.
...come to think of it, he doesn't really know how long he's been awake. The clock looks all weird and wrong, and his chest hurts too much for him to focus on his thoughts for long at all.
Ranboo lets his head fall to the side, and he sleeps. Maybe someone will come if he passes the time.